Ripples in the Water
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: Twelve years ago, Lieutenant Schrank was mentoring five youths. Now, for some unknown reason, one of them has a vendetta against him and will do anything to see him discredited. But which one is it and what is the reason for the irrational hatred?
1. Where did I go wrong?

**West Side Story**

**Ripples in the Water**

**By Lucky_Ladybug**

**Notes: The characters from the movie aren't mine. The other characters and the story is! This takes place after a post-movie story of mine called **_**The Worth of Souls**_**, but that doesn't have to be read first; there are just a couple of explanatory references to it. Also, since it seems it was not Arthur Laurents' intention for the setting to strictly be the 1950s, and hence, moved it to a nebulous time period for the 2009 revival, I felt no need to make it the 1950s either. The time period is intended to be the present day, but I'm not as yet sure if that will really make itself manifest. Thanks to Crystal Rose for plot help!**

**Chapter One**

The Manhattan night was on the chilly side, but to Lieutenant Schrank's relief it was not outright cold.

All manner of extremes in weather aggravated him. It was frustrating to patrol the streets looking for gangs in any temperature, but blistering heat and biting cold made it infinitely worse. Schrank preferred more moderate conditions. It was late summer now, almost autumn, and various dying leaves were finding their way into the road, despite the scarcity of trees. They crunched, but Schrank mostly ignored them.

Sergeant Krupke glanced his way, as he had done many times on their trek up and down the neighborhood. The Lieutenant had only recently returned to active duty after a near-fatal shot from a nervous street gangster's gun. Krupke wondered a bit whether Schrank was recovered enough to be back yet. Of course, Schrank said he was fine, but who knew if that were really true.

This time Schrank caught Krupke looking at him. "What is it?" he asked, typically gruff.

Krupke shrugged. "Nothing," he said.

Schrank regarded him in exasperation. "Krupke, you've been eying me all evening," he said. "You've gotta have a reason for it."

Krupke sighed. "Okay, I wondered if you're feeling okay to be out," he said.

"Okay? I feel fine," Schrank said. "Krupke, I followed the doctors' orders—as much as I didn't want to half the time. I was cleared for duty."

"Yeah, I know," Krupke said. "I just don't want to see anything else to happen to you."

Schrank grunted. ". . . Everything looks quiet tonight," he said, switching the subject. "We might as well head back to the car."

Krupke concurred. But it was at that moment that the quiet was decimated.

A girl in her twenties staggered out from around a corner, her thick red hair swaying as she nearly lost her balance and pitched forward. She reached out, catching hold of Schrank's shoulders. Both he and Krupke stared.

Her glazed eyes lit up. "Well, if it ain't Lieutenant Schrank," she slurred. "Hi there. It's been a long time, ain't it?"

Krupke's mouth fell open. Schrank gripped the woman's arms, peering into her face in shock. At last some hint of recognition gleamed in his eyes. "Ann?" he exclaimed.

She gave an enthusiastic nod. "Yeah! You remember me!" She looked up at Krupke. "He was teachin' me stuff, you know. Tryin' to keep me off the streets."

"And I can see it didn't work," Schrank retorted. "You're stoned!"

She cackled, lightly hitting his right shoulder. "I know!" she said. "It's the greatest. Maybe you're not really here. Maybe I'm imagining it, just like that."

"I'm really here," Schrank said, swinging her around to lead her to the squad car. "But you're going to wish I wasn't."

"Awww, you're not gonna punish me for this, are you?" Ann whined.

Schrank reached into her open purse. "These are illegal drugs, aren't they?" he said, holding up a fistful of assorted pills.

She pouted. "You're taking away all my fun," she said, rocking back and forth as Schrank lowered her to the back seat. "Anyway, you've got bigger problems."

Schrank frowned. "What are you talking about?" he demanded.

She leaned in close, as though about to reveal a closely guarded secret. "Someone from the old gang is gunning for you, Lieutenant," she said in a stage whisper.

From Schrank's expression, he did not believe it. "Are you sure it's not just another of your . . . hallucinations?" he spat in distaste.

She shook her head. "Nope, it's true. Cross my heart and hope to . . . no, never mind. I don't wanna die. I wanna _live!_" She rocked back, flinging her arms wide. "Living is great!"

Krupke gaped. "Why is someone after the Lieutenant?" he demanded.

She sat up straight again, poking her head out of the open doorway. "He's mad or something," she said as she walked her fingers across the seat. She looked to Schrank. "He blames you for something that went wrong."

"Like what, his life? That was out of my control," Schrank growled. "And don't you know anything more than this? Who is it?" He folded his arms, still not convinced.

She tilted her head, gazing into the distance. "Jimmy's dead," she slurred, thinking aloud. "Can't be him. . . . André? Nope, haven't seen him. Maybe it was Carlos. Or Bennie. . . ."

Schrank pushed his hat back on his head. "Do you want to know what I think?" he said.

She blinked at him. "Sure. What do you think, Lieutenant?"

Schrank leaned forward, resting his hand on top of the car. "I think that while you've been in La-La Land, some phantom came out of your head and showed up in front of you, saying he was gonna kill me. Then I think that same phantom strolled off with his top hat and cane into the fog and disappeared."

She pouted. "You don't believe me," she said.

"Should I?" Schrank answered. "Even if someone is out to get me, why would they go blab it to you?"

"He wanted to know if I'd seen you," was the reply. "I said Nope! I hadn't seen you in ten years, at least. And then I run into you tonight. How about that." She giggled.

"Yeah, how about that." Schrank straightened. "Swing your legs into the car. We'll take you down to the station and see what you can tell us there, about these." He indicated the pills.

Ann complied, but was not pleased. "You oughtta try 'em sometime, Lieutenant," she said. "They'll give you a big rise. Maybe you'd loosen up a bit." She fumbled with her seatbelt, unable to get it fastened.

Schrank did it for her. "No thanks." He shut the door and walked around to the driver's side of the car. He got in, setting the purse on the arm between the seats.

Krupke slid into the passenger side. "What if there's really something to what she's saying?" he asked in concern.

Schrank started the car. "Maybe there is, maybe there isn't," he said. "I'll look into it."

Krupke lowered his voice as they pulled away from the curb. "Who is she, anyway?" he wondered. "What'd she mean about the 'old gang' and you teaching her?"

Schrank shrugged. "You've heard the boys talking at the precinct, right? About me mentoring kids? They always think they're talking when I'm not around, but I've been there sometimes."

Krupke suddenly felt awkward. "Yeah, I've heard," he admitted. "I've kinda wondered, but I figured you'd say something if you wanted to talk about it."

"You're right." Schrank stared ahead at the road, falling silent. Uncomfortable, Krupke said nothing more.

In the backseat, Ann had retreated into her own little world, rocking and singing some song to herself. Schrank could only tolerate a moment of that before he swore under his breath. "What a waste." He glanced over his shoulder at the young woman, then caught Krupke's eye.

"I took on looking after her and these other four kids that'd been picked up after a rumble. You know, she used to show a lot of promise. She was so enthusiastic . . . interested in discovering new ideas, new things to do. I really thought she'd stay off the streets if any of them would. And now look at her—a pathetic, washed-up junkie and who knows what else. I wouldn't be surprised if at least some of her drug money came from walking the streets."

Krupke looked down. He had never tried the mentor program himself. It was hard to picture Lieutenant Schrank taking part in it—but not because of a lack of interest. Schrank cared very much even now; he would not lose his temper if he did not. It was difficult for Krupke to imagine him in the mentor program because it was painful to think of him trying to help the kids, growing hopeful as they showed interest, only to have a lot of them slip right back. Schrank had been particularly close to Jimmy, Krupke had heard, and after that kid had chosen the gang, he had ended up killed in a rumble.

"What about those other kids?" he ventured at last. "André and Carlos and Bennie? What happened to them?"

Schrank sighed. "André, who knows. I lost track of him about eight years ago, when his family moved. I heard that Bennie showed a lot of initiative and got himself into a job with connections to the Mob. And Carlos . . ." His eyes darkened. "Carlos talked Jimmy into going back to the gang. They were seen heading off together the night Jimmy took a powder. And before the night was out, Jimmy was dead. Carlos disappeared when the gang was getting rounded up. I haven't seen him since, but there's been rumors that he's been mixed up in a lot of different illegal stuff—mostly burglary and theft."

"So nobody listened?" Krupke deduced.

"Do they ever?" Schrank shook his head. "Ann was on the straight and narrow for a while. I saw her a couple of times and she seemed fine. Then I heard later that she'd been getting into drugs."

"I'm sorry," Krupke said sadly.

Schrank kept his eyes on the road. "Eh. I got out of the mentor program after that. It wasn't for me; I hadn't had much hope going in. I didn't have any going out." He pulled up in front of the precinct.

"You did everything you could," Krupke objected.

Schrank turned off the engine. "Yeah, sure." He got out, pocketing the keys. Before Krupke could reply, he had gone around to open the door for Ann.

Krupke sighed, moving to get out as well. He had started to learn that Schrank's noncommittal _"Yeah, sure"_ usually meant Schrank disagreed with whatever was being said.

xxxx

Within the hour Ann was sleeping off her drug high in a cell and Schrank had a new casefile on his desk. He glared at it in frustration. Ann had cooperated, albeit grudgingly, and had given the name of her drug dealer. The narcotics squad would be put on that. Meanwhile, Schrank had a new robbery that looked like it tied in with a string of similar robberies across New York City. It had been given to him because of what was known about the perpetrators.

"A bunch of guys in their late teens or somewhere in their twenties ran off with a bunch of television sets," he paraphrased, skimming over the file. "Somebody tried to stop them and they jumped in their blue minivan and took off."

Krupke glanced up from his desk. "How much stuff did they get?"

"Who knows. The witness didn't get a good look. She said maybe six, eight TVs." Schrank set the folder down. Characteristic disgust was written all over his face.

". . . You wanted to get that pusher, didn't you." It was not a question.

Schrank looked annoyed. "Of course I wanted to get him," he said. "Who knows how many idiots he's been messing up besides Ann. But that's not our department." He tapped the folder. "We're supposed to get out where these punks were seen and try to find any leads."

"What're you going to do about what Ann told you?"

"That someone hates my guts enough to want to paint the streets with them? What else is new." Schrank stood. "After we check into this, I'll see if I can find out where the rest of the 'old gang' went off to. Maybe Ann really did learn something."

"That's what I'm worried about," Krupke said as he followed Schrank towards the door.

Several officers looked up, tracing the duo's movement with their eyes. Krupke glanced to them, then away. Something about the way they were looking made him uneasy. They had been staring like that when he and Schrank had come in, too.

Schrank had noticed as well. "What's your problem?" he growled to the nearest policeman.

The officer jumped a mile to have been noticed. "Nothing, sir," he said, quickly returning his attention to the folder on his desk.

Schrank was not convinced, but he let it go. There were other, more important things on his mind.

xxxx

There was nothing of worth to be found at the scene of the crime, other than a round blue pin that featured a peace symbol design. Schrank rolled his eyes when he found it. If that had been dropped by one of the thieves, what an irony it was. He slipped it into an evidence bag and brought it back to the precinct for analysis.

Ann was still asleep in her cell, so Schrank set about to look up the latest known information on the other kids' whereabouts, as promised. But to his annoyance, there was not really anything new. André and Bennie, as before, had seemed to have completely dropped off the radar. They could be dead for all Schrank would know. Or maybe they had even changed their names. As for Carlos, some people had linked him with a burglary gang operating on Staten Island, but there was no proof that he was the one.

Schrank sighed and leaned back. He thought about the past a lot more than he really wanted to. When he had been recovering from the bullet wound he had run through that era again and again in his mind. And now, meeting up with Ann tonight was pulling those old wounds open even farther.

Was there more he could have done? If he had seen the writing on the wall, could he have stopped Jimmy from going back to the gang and getting himself killed? Could he have kept Ann from ending up a drug addict? Carlos from becoming a thief? André and Bennie from whatever they might have gotten into?

Captain Black had told him he had done everything he could and that sometimes those things just happened, in spite of one's best efforts. Of course, Schrank knew that was true. But it was still hard to always keep that logic in mind. It felt like a personal failure—that he had let all of those kids down when he could have turned their paths around.

And if one of them really had approached Ann and said they wanted to kill him, what could be the reason? What could it be that he was being blamed for? Would Ann remember when she came back down to planet Earth? Or would she not recall saying anything about it whatsoever?

Officer Bentley walked past the Lieutenant's desk, uneasy. Schrank looked up with a start, locking eyes with the young policeman. But before he could say a word, Bentley gave him a nervous nod and a "Sir" and hurried off.

Schrank muttered to himself. This was beyond strange. He had never seen the patrolmen act afraid of him before, unless it was for a short moment right after losing his temper. That was understandable. This was not. And he did not like it one bit. The next officer that acted jumpy around him was going to get pinned down and interrogated.

But, as it turned out, he did not encounter anyone else before finally leaving for the night. The solution to the mystery would have to wait.

He paused at Ann's cell on his way out. She looked quiet and without a care in the world. But when she woke up and was sober again, that would change.

"Will that ever change," Schrank vowed to himself as he turned to leave.


	2. Losses and gains

**Notes: I have to admit, I honestly can't say one way or the other whether I fully believe Lieutenant Schrank is or is not racist. Some of the things he says are certainly incriminating, but I just can't get over the directions in the film's shooting script that he was shamed and guilty by his words. To me, those do not sound like the feelings of a racist. At least, certainly not a hardened one. For my stories, I've chosen to explore other possible avenues behind what he said. This story goes deeper than any of the offhand comments made in the previous ones, especially in this chapter and the one following.**

**And thanks to Viennacantabile! I don't picture Krupke as stupid, but I've been striving to keep his speech pattern closer to what it seemed to be in the movie.**

**Chapter Two**

The frantic banging on Schrank's front door startled him out of a dead sleep. Grumbling to himself, he threw back the covers and shuffled towards the living room. When he pulled open the door, to his surprise Krupke was standing there.

"I didn't get to sleep until three in the morning," Schrank told him, still half-asleep. "And I don't know what time it is now, but I still feel like I was hit by a truck. You'd better have a good reason for this, Krupke."

Krupke nodded, worry written all over his features. "I do, Lieutenant. Can I come in?"

Schrank stepped aside, tiredly gesturing at the pathway. Krupke walked in and Schrank shut the door behind him.

"Lieutenant . . ." Krupke looked at him in helplessness. "You know how there's rumors around a lot that you're . . . well . . . biased?"

"You came over here just to tell me there's more of those?" Schrank said in disbelief.

"It's not like before," Krupke hurried to tell him. "Back then they were just saying that you were only saying things. Now someone's saying that you beat up on a couple of Hispanics who were stealing auto parts—and that it was more because of their race than anything else."

Now Schrank was wide awake. "What?" he yelled. "Who's saying that?"

"The Hispanics," Krupke said. "But no one can find them. I got in to the precinct earlier today and they were all talking about it. And they figure Captain Black's going to call you into his office later on to talk about it, when he finds out."

Schrank swore. "I don't know what they're talking about at all," he said. "I didn't even _find_ any Hispanics swiping auto parts." He ran a hand over his face. "So that's why everyone was giving us the cold shoulder. Do they think you were mixed up in it too?"

Krupke shrugged. "I guess they figure I know about it, anyway," he said.

Schrank stormed back to the bedroom, intending to get dressed and leave. "Well, I'm gonna find out exactly what they think," he snarled over his shoulder. "Did you let them know you were listening?"

"Yeah," Krupke said. "Most of them looked pretty guilty when I walked in. I told them they oughtta be ashamed and that you'd never do that. Bentley said . . . well . . . he said it wasn't that they believed it, but that they know you've got a bad temper and . . . I guess they wondered if you'd done something in the heat of the moment."

Schrank frowned. He could not deny that in an extreme circumstance his patience might break so fast that he could be capable of striking a suspect across the face—but he doubted it would go further than that. And it would not happen for any reason other than that he was furious about the person's actions. He had said many things over the years that he was ashamed of—including some that did indeed sound racist. But at the end of the day he did not think that he was a bigot; he was frustrated and angry with members of all groups that contributed to trouble on his beat.

He came out more furious than when he had gone in. Pulling on his coat as he headed for the door, he also grabbed his hat off the rack. "Come on," he growled.

Krupke followed, still worried.

xxxx

An unsettling hush fell over the animated squad room the moment Schrank opened the door. Officers froze in the middle of typing, writing, and even making telephone calls. Schrank strolled in, placing his hands behind his back. Several people tensed; his falsely pleasant moods were more frightening than if he came in visibly angry.

"Oh, don't stop on my account," Schrank said with a smile. "Or Krupke's. You just go right along with your business." He made a shooing gesture. "After all, this office just wouldn't run without gossip. Would it?" He headed for his desk, Krupke following close behind. All eyes followed them. "Who's messing around with who in the empty rooms. Who's screwing up his cases." He paused at Officer Bentley's desk and looked him in the eyes. All traces of amiable behavior vanished. "Who's beating up on Hispanic car thieves because they're _Hispanic_ car thieves."

Officer Bentley averted his gaze, shamed. Schrank straightened, turning to look out at the rest of the squad room.

"It's a really good feeling to know that everybody in this precinct talks about their superior officers behind their backs," he said, resuming his pace around the room. "That shows just how much respect they have for the men commanding them. I wonder what they say about Captain Black. I wonder if he'd like to know about it."

"Lieutenant . . ." Officer Keaton rose from his desk. "I wasn't involved in this. I said that you're not . . . like that."

Schrank paused to glance his way. He gave a slight nod. "And how many believed you, Keaton?" he asked.

"Sir, none of us think you're . . . that way," Officer Daniels said, getting to his feet as well. "We've been talking and worrying about how it's going to affect you in the public's opinion."

"Yeah?" Schrank looked at him, unconvinced. "If that's all you're worried about, why not let Krupke and me in on it?" He folded his arms. "And what's with this 'you're not . . . that way' crud? Just say it right out—racist. Bigoted. I don't keep my words soft. What makes you think you've gotta do it when you're talking to me? You think I can't take hearing what you really mean?"

Officer Daniels flushed with embarrassment. "No, sir."

"I don't like it when guys I'm around every day start talking about me behind my back," Schrank said. "So if they do, they'd better have a darn good reason. And I ain't heard one."

Now everyone looked down to their desks. There were no explanations that could be given and they knew it.

Schrank arrived at the door leading to the holding cells. His expression was a mixture of disgust and triumph. "I wonder just how many of you guys believe what you heard, even if you'll never say so," he remarked before stepping into the hall.

Krupke stopped at the same doorway, his expression showing hurt and betrayal above all else. "After everything the Lieutenant's done for you, you should be standing by him now," he exclaimed.

"We are standing by him, Sergeant!" Officer Keaton said in desperation.

"Most of you, anyway," Officer Egmont muttered. "Maybe there really is some truth to this story. After some of the things he's said, it sounds logical to me."

Both Keaton and Krupke looked to him in shock. "That's not true!" Keaton said. "Everyone says things they don't really mean. Lieutenant Schrank has one of the worst beats in this whole precinct. Dealing with street gangs for over twenty years would wear anyone down."

Now Krupke regarded him in surprised gratitude. There really was at least one ally here.

"That's right," he said. "Lieutenant Schrank isn't biased. He feels just the same about one group as he does another."

"Then does that mean he hates all groups?" Egmont said. A couple of officers snickered, but the majority were not amused.

"No, he doesn't," Krupke frowned. "He's frustrated and upset when people make trouble, but that doesn't mean he hates everyone."

"Of course you'd think so, Sergeant," Egmont said. "We all know you think the world of him."

"You watch your mouth," Krupke said with a glare. "I outrank you, you know."

That finally silenced Egmont. He and the other officers went back to their work, subdued. In a moment the squad room was filled with the sounds of typing. Krupke slipped out to find Lieutenant Schrank.

He did not get far. "Sergeant?"

He froze, turning at the sound of Captain Black's voice. "Captain . . ." This could go either good or bad. He prayed for good.

Captain Black was leaning out of the door to his office. "I need to talk to you, Sergeant," he said. "Will you come in?"

Krupke walked back. "Sure," he said, entering the room. Captain Black closed the door after him. As he walked back to his desk, Krupke ventured to start the conversation. "Sir, is this about what they're saying about Lieutenant Schrank?"

Captain Black sighed as he sat down. "Yes," he said. "I wondered if you know why it's being said."

"I don't know, sir," Krupke said. He took off his hat, nervously turning it around in his hands. "I know it's not true."

Captain Black nodded. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said. "I never even saw the report on these supposed auto thieves."

"There wasn't one, sir," Krupke said. "We never even met up with them!"

"Are you sure Lieutenant Schrank didn't encounter them on his own and said nothing?"

"He wouldn't do that," Krupke objected. "I'm telling you, sir, he didn't hurt anybody!" He frowned. "And I don't like being in here, talking about him behind his back. Why don't you get him and talk to him instead?"

"I intend to," Captain Black said. "But you're his partner and are around him the most, so I wanted to question you also."

"He didn't do anything wrong," Krupke insisted. "Why can't anyone find the Hispanics who're running around saying he beat them up?"

Captain Black sighed, passing a hand over his face. "I don't know," he said. "Can you think of anyone who might say Lieutenant Schrank beat them up even if he didn't?"

Krupke stiffened. "Last night Lieutenant Schrank met one of those kids he tried to help years ago," he exclaimed, urgent. "And she told him that one of the others was out to get him! Maybe it's him, whoever he is!"

Captain Black perked up. "He met Ann Thomas?"

"Yeah. You'd left for the night when he brought her in," Krupke said. "She had some illegal drugs with her."

Captain Black tapped his fingers together. "You might have something here," he said. "But supposing it's true, can we be sure it isn't Ann herself who's angry with him?"

"She said it was one of the guys," Krupke frowned. "And she acted like she didn't have any problem with the Lieutenant. Actually, she acted like she was happy to see him." That was something he had especially paid attention to, as it was not something that happened often.

Krupke felt very badly for Lieutenant Schrank's ill track record. He wished that the street gangs could just understand Schrank's true motives. Perhaps in the past Schrank had not been quite as gruff, but he had said that he had been cynical even going into the mentoring program. The punks had always given him problems. By the time he had tried mentoring, he had already been dealing with them for over twelve years.

Now Captain Black gave a thoughtful nod. "That could be," he acknowledged. "Ann, quite frankly, all but idolized Lieutenant Schrank."

Krupke was confused. "Then how'd she end up like she is now?" he wondered. "She's a real addict."

Captain Black sighed sadly. "It happens," he said. "It doesn't mean she liked him any less. It means she had some personal problems to work through."

Krupke frowned but nodded. ". . . What are you going to do, sir?"

Captain Black placed his hands on the desk, pushing himself out of his chair. "I want to talk with Ann myself," he said.

"I think the Lieutenant's with her right now," Krupke said.

"Then I'll wait," Captain Black said.

He stood at the window, glancing out at the sunny yet hazy Manhattan morning. Outside, the streets were alive with traffic, as usual. Car horns honked. A resident, angry about some imagined injustice, yelled and shook a fist at someone down the street. He was ignored. Dogs barked. A grouchy woman barked back, wanting everyone and everything to shut up. Yes, it was just another average day on the West Side.

Krupke shifted his weight. "Sir?" he asked at last.

Captain Black turned in surprise. "Yes?"

"What was the Lieutenant like? You know, back then?"

Captain Black hesitated, pondering his reply. "He was a good man," he said, "as he is now, but discouraged and sad. Those kids meant the world to him." He shook his head. "Losing Jimmy Alvarez was, I think, too harsh of a blow for him to stand." He paused again, his eyes turning all the more serious. "What I'm going to say now can't leave this office, but I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of Lieutenant Schrank's abrasive comments stem back to his anger and confusion over what happened to Jimmy and Carlos. He was never one to mince words, but he grew a lot more blunt and cutting over the years. Especially after that."

Krupke looked down. "I wish I'd been there for him back then," he said.

Captain Black regarded him with compassion. "You're here for him now," he said. "And whether he'll ever say so aloud or not, I believe you have helped him. Having you as a partner for all these years has been positive stability, something he sorely needed."

Krupke nodded. He would like to believe that.

Captain Black managed a smile and crossed the room, laying a hand on Krupke's shoulder. "More importantly, you've been a friend," he said. "Something he needed far more."

Krupke blinked, surprised. "I don't think the Lieutenant thinks of me like that," he said.

"Maybe not," Captain Black agreed. "But on the other hand, maybe he does. I don't remember him letting his guard down so much around anyone in years. I think it's safe to say that he trusts you a great deal. And of course, trust is the first step in any genuine relationship."

Krupke fell silent, thinking on that. "Thank you, sir," he said at last.

Captain Black nodded.

xxxx

Ann was awake and off her drug high when Schrank came to her cell. She sat up on the cot, digging her fingers into her scalp as she winced and looked to him.

"Lieutenant . . ." She managed a weak smile. "I really started wonderin' if I made up everything I remembered from last night. It's been so long. . . ." She shrugged. "I kinda never thought I'd see you again. I never really wanted to like this. I feel like hiding now."

"You should." Schrank unlocked the door and stepped inside, crossing his arms as he leaned against the bars. "What happened to you, Ann?" he demanded, too impatient to open with pleasantries or otherwise beat around the bush. This day was already off to a seriously bad start. "You were doing good before you got off on this drug kick. Now look at you, just _look_ at you! I thought I'd taught you right. But I must've missed something somewhere, like the chapter on how getting yourself high is just all-around _stupid!_"

She glowered, looking away. "I don't know what happened, Lieutenant," she said. "I guess one thing kinda led to another." Her voice lowered. "I had nightmares a lot, about being dragged off, back to the gang. I couldn't take it; I wanted it to stop. So I started poppin' sleeping pills. That was great for a while, but then they lost their juice and I wanted somethin' more. So . . ." She shrugged. "I started lookin' for it."

"And you ended up with a bunch of illegal happy pills, is that it?"

She made a face, lying back on the cot. "You know, it's funny how you lose all sense of reasoning and stuff when you're on 'em, but when you come back down, it's all back. You've got all the reasoning and worries and real-life garbage, and you're not happy any more. But . . . even when you're laughin' and boisterous and all that 'cause of the pills, deep down there's still an emptiness. You wanna get rid of that and no matter what you try, you just _can't._"

"Of course you can't. That emptiness is just part of life." Schrank walked over to the bed and looked down at her. "I didn't think I had to worry about you. I thought you were going to be okay."

She glanced to him. "And I let you down, huh, Lieutenant?"

Schrank pulled up a chair and sat down. "That's not the point," he growled. "You let _yourself_ down. All I was ever trying to do was to help you and Jimmy and the others find a better life."

Ann looked away, suddenly becoming very interested in a piece of fuzz on the sheet. "What are you gonna do with me?" she mumbled.

Schrank sighed. "You're going to be charged with possession of illegal drugs, for one thing," he said. "But you might get a reduced sentence if you keep cooperating." He looked at her sternly. "And you need help. If I had my way the judge would chuck you in rehab."

Ann sat up. "I don't know if that's better or worse than jail," she frowned.

"If you want to keep screwing up your life, that's your business," Schrank said. "But when you're doing it by breaking the law on my beat, it's mine. And a lot of other people's, too."

She drew her legs up to her chest and leaned forward, crossing her arms on top of them. "You ain't changed much, Lieutenant," she said with a smile. "That's kinda comforting, in some way."

"I've changed," Schrank said. "Everybody changes after ten years."

"Well . . . maybe you're more cynical than before," Ann said, "but still. I recognize you from all those years ago. I always liked you." She rested her head on her arms. "Oh sure, you huffed and puffed and growled a lot, but it didn't bother me none. Maybe 'cause I saw you cared about us nitwits. Some of 'em complained, but I told 'em you wouldn't get so frustrated if you didn't care. Wouldn't be worth it."

Schrank grunted. "I never could get through to any of you, no matter what you thought of me," he said flatly.

Ann sat up straight. "You got through!" she protested. "I never wanted to go back to the gang, especially after you started showing us a different way of life. It's just . . ." Her shoulders slumped in helplessness. "I wasn't good enough to stick with it. I made a whole other big mess out of my life."

"You can still turn it around," Schrank said. "If you want to."

She bit her lip. "I want to," she said, her voice soft. "I just don't know how."

"There's people who do," Schrank said. "They'll help you do it."

She looked at him, and in those wide brown eyes he saw the twelve-year-old kid she had been when they had first met. "I wish it was you, Lieutenant," she said.

Schrank looked away, uncomfortable. ". . . Well, somebody wishes I was out of the picture, according to what you said last night," he said. "Do you remember that?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It happened. I just . . . I can't remember who I was talking to! It's all a blank!" She slammed her hand into the mattress.

Schrank looked back. "Why would he even tell you unless he thought you'd agree with him?" he wanted to know.

"Maybe he did think that," Ann said. "But I don't know why. All of them knew I thought you were the greatest. I still do." She pushed herself further upright. "I can't figure out what any of them would have against you. You just tried to help us brats."

"Well, somebody's spreading rumors around that I'm beating up on Hispanics," Schrank growled. "Did whoever talked to you say he was gonna do that?"

She stared, her eyes wide. "No!" she said. "I don't get that at all. Little Jimmy was Puerto Rican. I remember you and he got along great. Carlos too."

Schrank averted his gaze. "Yeah." He stood, suddenly looking tired. "Look, if you remember anything else, you let me know, alright?"

She blinked in surprise. "Sure thing, Lieutenant," she said. "Are you going?"

"Yeah," Schrank said. "I'm going." He walked back to the door and opened it. Stepping into the corridor, he shut and locked it behind him. Though he could feel Ann's eyes watching him, filled with questions, he ignored her and kept going.


	3. The rumor mill

**Notes: This story lives! I always had a basic plot outline, so hopefully I can put the rest of it to use and actually finish this. The scene with the guy in the parking lot was inspired by an episode of **_**Route 66**_** entitled **_**To Walk With the Serpent.**_

The memories were swirling through Schrank's mind as he walked down the hall. Right now, encountering anyone else—especially the officers who seemed not to know what to think of him—was the last thing he wanted. He hauled open the back door and managed to get outside without being seen. Sighing, he headed for his and Krupke's squad car. Moments later he sank into the driver's seat, staring off into the distance.

A knock on the window suddenly startled him back into the present. Krupke was leaning down, regarding him in concern. Schrank rolled down the window with a sigh of resignation.

"Lieutenant, are you okay?"

Schrank gestured at the car. "Get in," he said.

Krupke went around and opened the passenger door, easing his big frame into the vehicle. Schrank rolled up the window.

". . . Captain Black wanted to talk to me," Krupke ventured. "He wants to talk to you too."

"I'm sure he does," Schrank grunted.

"He believes you didn't beat up anyone," Krupke hurried to say.

A half-smile of dark amusement crept over Schrank's features. "I figured on that from him, at least," he said.

He pushed his hat back. "You know, it's funny," he mused. "They're spreading rumors around that I'm racist, but that kid Jimmy—he was a Puerto Rican. And he was the one I probably got on the best with out of any of 'em."

Krupke frowned. "And then he left and went back to the gang," he remembered. "Did you feel . . . I don't know, betrayed or something?"

"Betrayed. . . . Yeah, I guess I did." Schrank's features darkened. "I'd looked after him, treated him good, tried to show him a better life. . . . And he acted interested. Then, just out of the blue, he wrote me that letter saying the gang was his family and he was going back to them.

"Carlos Rodriguez left with him. I always figured Carlos'd talked him into it. Carlos never was too interested; he was always gung-ho about the gang and talked about them being family and all that trash."

He shook his head. "I guess if I'm honest, I've gotta admit that I've been pretty angry since then. Maybe sometimes I've taken it out on the PRs. They haven't helped the crime wave any."

"And this thing with Jimmy just makes it worse," Krupke added in understanding.

Schrank fell silent in agreement. ". . . People have said I'm racist before," he mused. "And if I get right down to it, I'm not sure _what_ I am. Maybe I'm ticked off at the PRs. But I don't feel much better when it comes to any of the other groups, either. Everybody who moves in has some kids who want to get in on American society—and they think that street gangs are a part of that, so they make a new gang and the problem gets worse. Now I'm just sick of anyone moving in, no matter who they are. If that's racism, I'm guilty as charged."

Krupke hesitated. "You're not racist," he said at last. "You're just . . . I don't know. . . . You've seen too much stuff most people never have to see." Slowly, he reached and laid a hand on Schrank's shoulder. The other man gave a violent start. Krupke jerked his hand back.

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean . . ."

"I'm just not used to that, from anybody," Schrank said. He hesitated a long moment. "You're fine." He glanced to his longtime partner. "Thanks. It's good to know I've got two friends on the force, anyway."

Krupke perked up. "Three," he said. "Officer Keaton was standing up for you too."

Schrank slowly nodded. ". . . Did the Captain want to see me right away?"

"He's talking to Ann right now," Krupke said. "So maybe after that. . . ."

"That could take a while." Schrank reached for the seatbelt. "Come on. We're due on the beat."

Krupke pulled down his own seatbelt. It was good to see Lieutenant Schrank a bit less discouraged, anyway.

xxxx

Patrol did not go as well as they had hoped. The street gangs were out and about, causing their usual commotion of painting walls with graffiti and roughhousing with each other. Schrank and Krupke were forced to break up two of the gangs. And as usual the kids clammed up, refusing to speak of either their battles or give any information they might know about the recent burglary ring operating in Manhattan.

The law-abiding citizens were not much more cooperative. The ones with whom the policemen spoke were often close-lipped and filled with suspicions. The uncertain, unfriendly manner in which they stared down Lieutenant Schrank was all too familiar. He had seen many hoodlums give that look to their rivals—and some others had given it to him. If he had to guess, these people had probably heard the rumors about him beating up the Hispanics and were not sure what to make of him. Even Doc seemed colder than in general. But Schrank was not willing to sit back and take it from him.

"Alright, what's the deal?" Schrank demanded, leaning on the counter with his left arm. "I know we ain't bosom buddies, but you don't usually treat me like I've got the plague, either."

Doc stiffened and looked back from where he was cleaning a glass. Business had been slower and sadder since Tony's death. And though he had tried to move on, there were still times when it hit him worse than at other times. Right now was one of those times. In the past it would have been Tony cleaning the glass. And Schrank coming in at this point was reminding him of the last twenty-four hours of Tony's life. Schrank had been there the night before his death, too.

"I'll make it easier for you," Schrank went on while Doc was still searching for his voice. "You heard about me really giving it to a couple of Hispanic thieves. Right?"

Doc set the glass down, hard. "Yes," he admitted. "I heard that."

"And you believe it?" Schrank persisted.

Doc sighed, suddenly looking so tired. "I don't know," he said in all honesty. "I've never seen you attack anyone physically. I don't want to think you'd do it. But I can't say what you'd be capable of."

Schrank looked into Doc's eyes, his brown gaze insistent and unapologetic. "I didn't do it," he said. "Do you believe me?"

Doc looked away. "I believe you," he consented at last.

Schrank straightened, satisfied. "Good," he said. "I wish everyone else around here believed it too. I've got enough trouble right now without this adding to it."

Doc leaned on the counter, giving a weary nod. The people would believe whatever they wanted, no matter what he or Schrank or anyone else did about it.

"I'm still trying to find out who's spreading this garbage." Schrank reached into a candy bowl at the edge of the counter. "Do you mind?"

Doc glanced up, just briefly. "No," he said with a wave of his hand. "Go ahead."

"Thanks." Schrank took out some sort of chocolate candy and crossed to the door. "I'll see you around."

Doc sighed, watching as Schrank left the shop and headed down the sidewalk to rendezvous with Sergeant Krupke. They spoke for a moment, then walked across the street and split up again.

Doc leaned back. He had never wanted Schrank to die. He had been glad to hear that the embittered police lieutenant was going to live after being shot down by that gang member. But that did not mean he liked Schrank any more than he had before the shooting. Schrank's sharp tongue appalled and astonished him. He had never been sure whether Schrank was racist or not, although Schrank himself had once indicated instead that the long years of trying to deal with the gangs had weakened his temper and his patience.

Had it weakened them so far that he would beat up someone? Doc was not sure of that, either. But one thing Schrank was not, was a liar. When he had looked into Doc's eyes and proclaimed his guiltlessness in the matter, Doc had known it was so.

xxxx

The rest of the day did not proceed much better. The only positive occurrence was that Captain Black believed Schrank and Krupke were telling the truth. He launched an investigation into locating the others Schrank had once mentored, based on Ann's words that one of them was out to get Schrank. The search turned out to be in vain; none of them could be found.

The next week was more of the same. The rumors continued to spread, cruel in their intensity. Schrank had been short on patience for years, and the longer this went on, the less he had.

Krupke could see how it was tearing him up inside. He snapped, growled, and glowered at the slightest provocation. All of his attempts to find out who had started the rumors were in vain.

At least they had support. The increased number of stories in such a short time period, instead of making the other officers more suspicious, made them all the more certain it was a bunch of fiction. But Schrank was not comforted. "That's what it takes to believe me?" he snarled.

Of course, some of them had indeed believed him from the start, Officer Keaton foremost among them. Keaton lobbied in the neighborhood, insisting that Schrank was not guilty of any of the accusations. Schrank and Krupke were grateful for that, although the good it did was minimal. Some of the people sneered, certain that Keaton was just doing his part to protect a fellow policeman. Some felt he was sincere but probably did not know the truth. Some did not care. The remainder believed him and decided to give Schrank the benefit of a doubt.

The day a battered and bruised Puerto Rican burst into the precinct, pointing at Schrank and screaming that Schrank had threatened and then beaten him, was the last straw.

"It was him!" he yelled, waving his forefinger at the astonished and angry Lieutenant while the others gaped. "He's been telling me for days not to park my car so far into the street. Finally he threatened me and said if I didn't move it he would beat me. Today it was back, but I didn't put it there! When he found it he did just what he said. He beat me!"

Captain Black had come out of his office upon hearing the commotion. "These are serious charges," he frowned. "Do you have any witnesses to prove what you're saying?"

"No witnesses!" the man retorted. "He made sure to do it when no one was there! He probably had my car moved himself so he would have an excuse to beat me!"

Schrank stormed over, his eyes flashing. "Who put you up to this?" he demanded. "I've never seen you before in my life. Somebody must've told you to bust in here throwing accusations around. Who was it?"

"No one!" was the angry response. "You beat me, Lieutenant. Now you're denying it!"

Schrank's tolerance was gone. He reached out, grabbing a handful of the man's shirt before he could be stopped. "Now you listen to me," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Somebody's been telling garbage about me for the past week. I don't know if it's you or if it's someone paying you. But I can tell you here and now that I ain't gonna put up with it. Whatever you're trying to do, you won't get away with it. I'll see to that personally!"

"He's threatening me again!" the man cried.

Captain Black laid a firm hand on Schrank's shoulder. "Let him go, Lieutenant," he said. "Don't make this worse than it already is."

Schrank jerked his hand away from the dirty, torn T-shirt. "I didn't do anything to him," he said through clenched teeth.

There was nothing the police could do but to let the man go. But Captain Black ordered a tail to be put on him. Perhaps he would lead them to whoever had hired him to spread lies, if anyone. Neither Schrank nor Krupke were eligible; if the tail was seen, it had to be someone the man did not know. Two plainclothes detectives were assigned to the task.

"They'll find out what's going on," Krupke tried to console Schrank as they prepared to leave that night.

"Yeah, maybe," Schrank grunted. "Or maybe the guy who hired him will do something smart and stay out of the picture. Maybe that creep doesn't even know who it is."

"I wonder who really did beat him," Krupke frowned. "Those bruises didn't look fake."

"I wouldn't really care if I wasn't being blamed for it," Schrank growled. "He deserved a beating."

Krupke bit his lip. "How's Ann?" he asked, deciding a change of subject might be in order.

"Her hearing's coming up," Schrank said. "I'm supposed to testify at it. And if we can't get this mess cleared first, the D.A. might end up deciding I'm no good as a witness."

Krupke paused. "You don't think that could be the reason it's going on, do you?"

"Huh?" Schrank looked to him with a surprised blink. ". . . I guess it's possible," he conceded. "But Ann said someone was after me when she first showed up."

"Yeah," Krupke said slowly. "That's right." He surveyed his longtime partner. "I'll drive you home," he offered. "I just need to change."

Schrank was further surprised. He opened his mouth, intending to turn him down, but then stopped. Maybe it would be better if he wasn't left to get through the Manhattan traffic on his own tonight.

"Okay," he said. "I'll meet you outside." He headed through the doors, trudging to his car.

The figure stepped out of the shadows without warning, approaching him from the opposite direction. "Lieutenant Schrank, is it?"

Schrank frowned, straightening to look. "Who are you?" he grunted. This was one more delay standing between him and home.

"That doesn't matter as much as what I have to say," was the reply.

Schrank pushed back his hat. "Just what's this all about?" From the guy's smooth tone, Schrank disliked him already.

"I belong to an organization that would be highly beneficial to you, if you were to . . . give us some assistance."

"What are you talking about?" Schrank glared. He had already been suspicious. This was not helping any.

"We have the same feelings on certain very important subjects." The man handed him a pamphlet.

Schrank looked at the front and stiffened. "I know about your group," he said. "The FBI's out to get all of you."

"With your help, we could prevail," said the stranger. Now his excitement was plain.

Schrank regarded him in disgust. "Look, I don't know where you get off thinking we have the same belief system, but you're wrong." He shoved the pamphlet in his pocket. "My problems are with all kinds of people, including your group and others like it. You guys are just as disgusting to me as the street gangs killing themselves off in their rumbles."

The man was genuinely surprised. "But . . . you hate the mongrels too!" he exclaimed.

"I'm sick of everybody moving in," Schrank growled, "but just because they're all making the crime rate go up. And so are you."

The man sputtered. "I . . . I don't understand. How could I have made such a mistake?"

"Maybe because you're listening to rumors instead of checking the source," Schrank retorted.

"But I _have_ checked the source!" he protested. "I've personally heard some of the things you've said through the years!"

"Yeah, but you don't know what was in my head when I said 'em," Schrank said. "And guess what? Now you're under arrest. Trying to solicit a bribe to a policeman. And I know some G-men who are gonna bust their buttons running to talk to you." He grabbed the stunned guy's wrist, snapping the cold metal handcuffs around it and his other. "You've got the right to remain silent."

xxxx

Getting the creep booked and filling out a report took up more than another hour. And the FBI did indeed come down as soon as they were called. Talking with them ate up the remainder of the second hour. By the time Schrank was actually on the road home, he was not only angry but exhausted.

Apparently some of what had happened tonight had been his own fault. Well, he had always known he was making quite a bad reputation for himself with his angry comments. But if it had not been for the added fuel from the rumors flying around, that nut probably would not have approached him. He supposed he should be grateful; maybe now the FBI would be able to crack down on that group. But overall he was more furious than ever.

Who had started these rumors? And why? Was it connected with what Ann had told him? She had told the same stuff to Captain Black, nothing varying. Maybe whoever was gunning for him was starting out by wrecking what was left of his reputation. It was logical enough. What _wasn't_ logical was why any of those kids he had mentored would be this mad at him. He had been over it and over it and had never hit on a logical explanation.

"Lieutenant?"

He looked up at Krupke's voice. They had stopped in front of his apartment building. "Oh. Thanks, Krupke." He started to get out of the car. "You didn't have to wait around like that at the station."

Krupke just shrugged. "Well, I said I'd drive you home," he said.

"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess." Schrank stumbled on the sidewalk but righted himself, heading for the door. He pulled it open and walked in, rubbing his eyes. If there was ever a night he needed a drink, it was tonight.

He climbed the stairs, fishing in his pocket for his keys as he came to stand in front of his apartment door. But then he stopped short, staring in disbelief.

Tacked to the door was a note, written with pasted newspaper letters.

_This is only the beginning, Lieutenant._

_I've ruined your reputation and I'm after your life._

_I'll never forgive you. Jimmy's death was your fault._

It was unsigned.

Schrank swore under his breath. _Jimmy's death?_ Of all the things to blame him for, it was _Jimmy's death?_ Jimmy had gone off by his own choice, against Schrank's wishes, and returned to that gang. How was Schrank at fault for that?

He pulled out his phone, calling the precinct.


End file.
